


La Petite Mort

by mountland



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Necrophilia, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2020-10-30 04:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20808281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountland/pseuds/mountland
Summary: PLEASE READ THE TAGS/WARNINGS BEFORE READINGIn the zombie apocalypse Gene gets infected, and Sam has to make a choice.Written for the zombie challenge in 1973flashfic in 2010.





	La Petite Mort

**Author's Note:**

> I'm moving all of my old livejournal fics to A03
> 
> Originally posted on 18th May, 2010 for the zombie challenge in 1973flashfic

Sam sits, staring at a closed door. He holds the last of Gene’s whiskey in his hand, though neither of them will be needing it now.

It had all started just under six months ago, when the first people fell ill. He thought that it was a new way his mind had created to terrify him. The test card girl’s big sister, when the corpse of a small child that had been lying in the morgue half an hour ago chased him down the corridors of the station. Her pale skin was swollen and peeling from her time in the canal, her lips still blue.

Gene had found Sam the next morning locked in his office cowering under his desk, still shaking with fear and the body of the girl was gone. Within a week another case had been reported of the dead walking, then another and another before the whole of CID was swamped with unsolved cases – it is very difficult to solve a murder when the body walks away of its own accord. Then it had started to affect the living, people transforming into the living dead before they had even died. After that all the rules changed, even Sam had to depart from his morals and ethics as he fought violence with violence. Shooting what had once been colleagues only to find that bullets couldn’t stop them, punching and kicking until all limbs were broken so they couldn’t catch more people to convert and then leaving them locked in the cells. They were very unlike the slow moving, moaning zombies seen in films. Instead they were quick, empty shells driven by blood lust.

For a while now the survivors had been fighting a loosing battle, only small pockets of people that seemed doomed to fall within the year. He had been determined to survive; he had always been a fighter. But maybe the zombie plague was his brain cells dying; each person a different cell, the darkness closing in on him as his synapses shut down. Had in 2006 his body finally hit the pavement? Had there been any point in fighting the inevitable – he hadn’t been sure but now that there was nothing left to fight for he knew there was no point.

During the apprehension of several zombies who had breached the borders surrounding the station Gene had received a small scratch. An inconspicuous thin red line across his left hand. A splinter from the wooden barrier, he had explained it to Sam, but before beer o clock had struck the symptoms had started showing: sweating, cold, clammy skin, and a lust for the taste of human flesh.

Gene had then locked himself in a room, and commanded Sam to leave and forget him. Like that would ever happen. That is what led him to be sitting here staring at a door considering committing suicide successfully for the second time in his life, or was it death. He was a fighter, it wasn’t in his nature to hide away waiting for death to find him changing him cell by cell into something that wasn’t him, wasn’t human. Gene had taught him about feeling, about passion, about feeling the blood pump around your body at dizzying speeds and feeling more alive that you have ever done while seconds away from death. He was not going to forget what Gene had taught him, like he would never forget Gene for as long as he lived which wouldn’t be very long. He had always imagined him and Gene going out together in a blaze of glory and if there was one thing he was good at it was making his dreams reality. He would die fighting, and how fitting it would be to die at the hands of his Guv, the man who he could never win a fight with but feels like he wins when he loses. One bite is all it would take, a chance to grant both of them the death they wanted - fighting to the death together in a blaze of glory.

Draining the last of drop of whiskey, Sam laughs a little it seems oddly fitting as his final supper. He walks towards the bedroom door and holds onto the handle. It’s cold and smooth in his hand, sending a shiver down his spine as he opens the door and walked to his death.

Gene crouches in the corner, clothes askew and drenched with sweat as his body fights a failing battle against the virus.

“I told you to go Sam, it was a direct order,” he growls, drawing himself to full height but keeping the distance between them. “Just leave me.”

Sam grins. As much as Gene may act like a thorough bastard most of the time, there’s always a deeply hidden, old fashioned noble streak in him, a trait that Sam had always found endearing. Crossing the room in three quick strides he sandwiches Hunt between himself and the wall.

“Sammy, I can’t control it. I already want to bite, soon I won’t be able to stop myself.” Gene stiffens himself against Sam’s contact, unable to push him away but still with enough control to resist pulling him closer.

“Don’t worry Gene, I have a plan” He says, pulling Gene towards the bed. “I always have a plan.”

“And your plans normally end up with one or both of us nearly dying,” Gene grumbles, still shaking with the effort to control himself as Sam pushes him down, only stopping to remove his own shirt before climbing on top of him.

“No nearly about it this time Guv.” Sam grinds his hips against Gene, who snarls against his neck, feral and bloodthirsty but not biting, still fighting the virus.

Sam’s hands move to Gene’s zip and hurriedly pull down trousers and underwear in one quick move. There’s no time for romance or lingering touches, just one last passionate struggle. It’s about feeling alive.

Grabbing the lube from its place under the pillow, he slicks his fingers before placing them between Gene’s legs, thumb pressing against the sensitive flesh behind his balls, causing Gene to hiss and arch beneath him before sliding his hand further underneath Gene sliding between the two fleshy cheeks.

“Sam” Gene’s voice is strained, looking into his eyes Sam sees the meaning and the fear behind his words.

“It’s okay to be scared of dying” He murmurs into Gene’s ear as his finger traces around the puckered hole.

“Not scared,” Gene grinds out through gritted teeth as Sam’s fingers breach him.

“It really isn’t as bad as you think. I should know, I’ve done it once already.”

“Yer mental.”

Sam roughly scissors him in response.

“…suicidal.”

“Once again, not the first time,” Sam hisses, inches away from Gene’s face as he thrusts another finger into Gene painfully scissoring, stretching, opening, preparing.

Pulling out his fingers, he positions himself at Gene’s entrance, one hand positioning his cock while the other clenches a fistful of Gene’s hair and pulls him into a bruising kiss. It’s messy, tongues fighting for dominance and teeth scraping together until Gene bites down hard on his bottom lip, Sam’s blood pulsing into his mouth mirroring the rhythm of Sam’s cock entering him. 

Virus transferred Sam thinks, tasting his blood as it fills his mouth from the bite. It’s oddly perfect in a way, a distant part of his brain comments, dying at Gene’s hands (or to be more correct, at his bite), in his arms as he rides him, dying inside him.

He stills once, buried balls deep in Gene’s clenching heat, panting slightly. Guilt flashes through Gene’s eyes as he watches blood dripping of Sam’s mouth.

Rolling his hips, Sam bends his head to gently capture Gene’s lips, trying to kiss away the guilt and fear while his hands roam Gene’s torso, pushing up his shirt to stoke and rub bare flesh like you would to calm a spooked animal.

“Shirtlifter.” The voice is still Gene’s but a feral, almost inhuman grin covers his face as he licks his blood covered lips. Sam just grins back, grips Gene’s shoulders for leverage and thrusts harder, returning to the previous brutal rhythm.

Gene’s hands scratch along Sam’s back and arse, clawing at the flesh through the thin layer of Sam’s vest, trying to push Sam into him and pull him closer. Their sweat slick chests press together, feeling each other’s hearts hammering in their chests. As Gene gets closer to the edge he scrapes and claws as if to tear Sam open, the need to rip flesh from bone filling him, feeling the fabric tear under his grasp and the warm wet feel of blood under his finger nails.

Sam thrusts harder, fixated on watching Gene moan and arch beneath him, the pain in his back and lip a sharp but arousing contrast to the tight, dirty heat surrounding his cock. Releasing one hand from Gene’s shoulder, he slides it between the two of them. He never breaks eye contact, determined to watch Gene’s face till the very last. Grasping at Gene’s cock – burning hot in his hand, pre come dribbling from the tip – he starts to move, gripping and twisting in tandem with his own thrusts into Gene. 

His hips speed up as he feels his own humanity start to slip away, replaced by a lust for blood and flesh. His teeth worry at Gene’s jugular, nipping and scraping but not biting. Sam speeds up his efforts on Gene’s cock until the man beneath him comes in a long moan, pushing down impaling Sam deeper in him as his come covers his chest and Sam’s hand. Feeling the flesh surrounding him grow cold, Sam speeds up his hips an lies his head across Gene’s chest, listening to his heart beat slow to a stop. The silence makes him ache.

Desperate not to think, Sam concentrates on the sound of skin against skin, feeling vibrations through the body underneath him every time he slams in racing towards release.

The glazed eyes beneath him snap into focus, the same as before but completely different, cold and unknowing. Yet Sam does know them. He knows this body even before the new version of Gene does. It’s his from its first moment of life. (Or is it death?) Sodomised from the start, never pure, his. That thought sends him over the edge. Arching his back and pushing himself as far into Gene as he can, he spurts his seed deep inside the body beneath him. Zombie Gene roars into action, latching onto Sam’s exposed and arched neck, gripping. Fear and adrenaline spikes through Sam, his hips still rocking through the after shock of his orgasm and his heart hammering against his chest, knowing what comes next. The pressure increases and Sam can hear his bones shatter in Gene’s jaw, tearing through flesh and arteries. His blood spills over the both of them and on to the sheets, the bed soaked red beneath them and still creaking with his thrusts. The blood burns hot against his rapidly cooling skin, as the darkness starts to close in on him. The satisfied snarl reverberating from Gene vibrates through the remains of his neck and shoots straight to his spent cock before the darkness takes him.

Sam’s eyes snap open, inhuman and empty. Gene is still lapping at the now cold blood covering them. Raising his head to sniff the air, he smells humans. Time for hunting.


End file.
